


tear away air

by IlluminationEgo



Series: Borderlands BDSM Verse [1]
Category: Borderlands
Genre: Asphyxiation, Choking, M/M, Violence, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-06
Updated: 2015-05-06
Packaged: 2018-03-29 07:48:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3888163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IlluminationEgo/pseuds/IlluminationEgo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack huffs like a spoiled brat, making sure to grind the heel of his shoes into the papers on the floor. “I’m going to stop asking and just take it from you eventually.” He mutters, and Rhys laughs.</p><p>Rhys is at ease here, in his office, with his mechanical arm at full power, and joking around with his (former still sort of) idol. “Why not now?” He offers with a cocky smile, tilting his chair back. It’s all a point of amusement for him, Jack’s violent tendencies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	tear away air

**Author's Note:**

> to effloresceinfinite. i wrote this on mobile at 1am pls excuse any typos. thanks for letting me have tumblr ask convos with u. <3  
> full credit to ei for inspirin the second half of the last paragraph and writing jacks last line.

“Lemme tear your throat out, c'mon.” Jack’s perched on the edge of Rhys’ desk, his ass infuriatingly situated on the paperwork Rhys needs to be doing.

Rhys is torn between conflicting thoughts of ‘why me’ and ‘nice ass’. Jack already thinks Rhys is just another creepy worshiper, which is something Rhys is adamant to prove he’s not. He opts for the first with a sigh of annoyance, placing his mechanical hand on Jack’s lower back and shoving him off the desk, losing some of the papers in the process. Damnit. “Really, still hung up on that?” Rhys teases. “I may put myself in mortal danger more than necessary, but death by asshole is not the way I want to be remembered.”

Jack huffs like a spoiled brat, making sure to grind the heel of his shoes into the papers on the floor. “I’m going to stop asking and just take it from you eventually.” He mutters, and Rhys laughs.

Rhys is at ease here, in his office, with his mechanical arm at full power, and joking around with his (former still sort of) idol. “Why not now?” He offers with a cocky smile, tilting his chair back. It’s all a point of amusement for him, Jack’s violent tendencies.

Rhys misses the way Jack’s hands curl into experienced fists as he leans across the desk. Rhys misses the way the corners of Jack’s mouth turn up in something more than amusement. “Sure.” Jack says before he lunges across the wood, wrapping a firm hand around Rhys’ neck as he knock Rhys from his desk chair and onto the floor.

Rhys startles, hands flying up to grab tightly at Jack’s forearm, trying to tug the offending limb off. “How rude.” Jack says, and Rhys lets out a strangled howl as Jack sinks a tool into the shoulder of his mechanical arm and pops it out of its socket.

“Agh!” Rhys manages, not feeling very coherent at the moment as he tries to deal with the sudden feeling of a phantom limb. Jack’s laugh cuts through the haze and Rhys snarls in annoyance. Fucking Jack, getting in the way of his work.

Jack slowly loosens his grip on Rhys’ throat and Rhys bucks, trying to dislodge Jack from where he’s settled comfortably in Rhys’ lap, straddling him. Jack tuts and presses Rhys’ useless metal arm across his windpipe with both hands. It’s a taunt and Rhys takes the bait, lashing out with his free hand and trying to reach Jack’s throat, scoring red lines just on the surface of Jack’s skin. Jack’s got a giant grin on his face and it infuriates Rhys. He swipes again, catching enough flesh to raise a real welt and Jacks snaps, his teeth sinking into Rhys’ hand and puncturing it. Rhys’ lips form the word asshole as he yanks his hand away and gives Jack an indignant glare even as his face heats up and turns a dark shade of red from the lack of air.

Jack grins again, licking the faint drops of blood from his lips and bears down with the metal arm, watching Rhys’ face change shades and his eyes grow more desperate as he realizes he’s not going to get air anytime soon.

Rhys tries to grab at Jack’s arms again, his attempts feeble as his eyes water and he tries to cough, but can’t. It burns, burns, and Rhys shakes. He shakes because he doesn’t know if he’s going to die like this, on the floor of his office and also because all he wants to do is strangle Jack right back. He’s starting to see dots swim at the corners of his vision and he puts his all into a desperate buck of his hips to dislodge Jack.

It’s the wrong move. Jack’s grin twists into malice as he abandons the metal arm and switches to putting pressure on Rhys’ throat with one hand and fists the other in Rhys’ hair. Rhys barely has time to draw a half breath before Jack cracks his skull against the polished floor and Rhys’ vision swims. He feels like might throw up but he can’t, not with the way Jack’s hand is wrapped around his throat.

He feels Jack’s breath hot against his ear. “I own you.” Jack snarls. Rhys groans, everything dizzying from the painful throb spreading its way from the back of his skull, the lack of air and Jack’s hand squeezing ever tighter, to the possessive words echoing in his brain. Jack’s steady weight in his lap is the only solid thing, and Rhys bucks his hips up again, and Jack throws back his head and laughs.

“Joining the party now, are we? You kinky son of a bitch!”


End file.
